I must confess, it is really tempting to run headlong into the Christmas season this year. I mean, who doesn't want more light, more joy-filled music, more decorations, more "tidings of comfort and joy"? The world feels so heavy right now. There days are shorter, yet somehow each one seems to last forever. Every 24 hours is full of more Covid cases, more hospitalizations, and more death. The news cycle is an incessant metronome of infection numbers, overburdened systems, and political drama. And yet simultaneously, each day seems to be an almost exact carbon copy of the day before, and the one before that, and the one before that, and the one before . . . Yes, we all desire the "good news of great joy for all the people". I know I do. However, what I think I really need this year is Advent. I need the waiting. I need the liminal space of the almost but not yet. I need the anticipation of something new. I need it because that is exactly where I am living every s
I grew up in Marion, Indiana. Even though I haven't lived there for over 30 years, I still call this Central Indiana town home. One of my favorite parts about growing up in Marion was the opportunity to play organized sports from a very young age - PAL Club basketball, T-ball, and flag football. But in Marion, basketball has always been and likely forever will be king! Hoosier Hysteria can be seen in all of its glory in Bill Green Athletic Arena. Even the water tower used to list all of the State Basketball Championships won reminding one and all of what was of ultimate importance. I often say that the most prominent tree in Marion was the basketball goal. Every block had at least two or three. It seemed as if every little girl and every little boy grew up dreaming of one day becoming a Marion Giant donning the purple and gold. Before I got to Marion High School, I went to McCulloch Junior High from 1980 through 1983. Our mascot was the Bears, and our school colors were purple, gol
Hope is a strange thing. Hope in the face of uncertainty, of discord, of disease, of brokenness, of adversity, of wickedness, of bad news seems irresponsible and naive. But . . . Hope sees a way where the path appears blocked. Hope beckons us when all else seems lost. Hope is that which pulls us toward possibility. Hope is foolishness in the eyes of a pessimistic world. Hope is the audacious persistence of a young expectant mother who sings songs of deliverance in the shadow of occupation and patriarchy because of the promise held in her womb. O, the voice of hope It will not waver in the presence of fear. It will not yield under the strain of adversity. It will not fail in the grip of oppression. Courage, Faith, Love, Resistance, Change, are impossible without it. In this season of Advent, In this season of waiting, In th
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